Hellfire: Hawkedith
by jamblute
Summary: AU where Merrill is caught by Templars after getting the Arulin'Holm. Hawke devises a plan to rescue her that involves turning himself into the Circle first, and Meredith unexpectedly takes an aggressive liking to him. (Cover is official screenshot from the game.)
1. Setup

Even the wooden floors of The Hanged Man had to be drunk, soaked in ale as they were. Normally, Hawke and his friends would be too, halfway through a game of Wicked Grace that Fenris would be losing terribly. They were settled around the table in Varric's room, at least. Most of them, anyway. Fenris wouldn't be part of breaking into the Gallows to free a mage (who wasn't Hawke) and Aveline would've stopped them if she'd known.

"I can't understand why you won't just let me handle this, Brother," Carver griped, scowling at Hawke across the table with the firelight waving behind him. "I'm a Templar, remember? I can sneak Merrill out and—"

"Knight Commander Meredith will have you beheaded as an example, or worse." Anders said what Hawke was dreading, nursing an ale in a pitted steel tankard.

"Because we really needed that visual," Hawke teased behind a smirk. "Besides, this plan is faster. I'll turn myself in to the Circle, find Merrill, sneak through the tunnel Anders found while you keep the Templars busy, and meet Isabela at the docks. We'll be done before dinner."

"It won't be that easy," Carver insisted, throwing his hands up. "Not even for you."

"This is for Kitten," Isabela purred, leaning forward on the table to emphasize her assets as only she could. "Out of everyone here, you've got to want us doing everything we can for her, no matter how... Hard."

Carver blushed just a little and sputtered to answer, and that was enough to make Isabela chuckle.

"That's not, there's no—" Ah, Carver. All eyes rested on him and for a moment, you could almost forget that Merrill was locked up in the Gallows facing Maker-knew-what at the hands of the most corrupt Templars in Thedas.

...And Cullen. Thraske too. There were a couple good eggs in the dozen, but even Hawke wouldn't take those odds if he had a choice. Then again, wasn't that the plan? Of course, whatever little relief there was couldn't last long.

"I, I just don't think it's a good idea to send Hawke, it's his fault she's there in the first place!" He clanked his armored glove on the scratched, uneven table and their eyes met over the growing distance between them. It'd been hard enough when Carver said he wanted to be a Templar, but Hawke stood up for him against Mother anyway. The Order was bringing out the Gamlen in him yet...

"Well shit," Varric cut through the tense silence. "Carver, you really don't know how to change a subject."

"My little brother," Hawke mocked Carver, propping his elbows on the table. "Like it or not, we need two men on the inside to get this done. It's got to be both of us."

"You mean like the Deep Roads? Oh wait, you went alone and we thought you were dead for weeks." Carver scowled and Anders rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to catch the gaze of anyone who wasn't a Hawke. Isabela gave him a shrug, Varric only waved it off, and the conversation ran its course.

"So sorry to disappoint," Hawke jabbed back, his patience thinning. "But we've got a friend to save."

"That's not what I meant!" Carver sighed, picking at a groove in the table. "If you hadn't let her—"

Varric sat forward, doing his best to get between the two brothers. "Look, kid, she wanted to fix that mirror and she would've done whatever it took to make that happen. It's no one's fault."

Hawke stood with a sigh. "Drinks, anyone?"

"Oh, yes," Isabela crooned. "You're such a sweet thing."

Anders turned it down with a gesture and Varric raised his tankard, which was message enough as Hawke waved over his shoulder and walked down the stairs. Carver could get his own blasted drink.

"Corff," he greeted as he approached the bar. He held up two fingers and put down enough coin for four drinks. Corff dealt with drunk Hawke when he was poor, and this seemed a just reward now that he lived in Hightown. Not that he was any less of a rowdy drunk.

"How goes it, Hawke?" He left the rag on the counter to pour two drinks, and at a glance, Hawke was certain that rag just moved dirt around rather than cleaning anything. Part of the charm, really.

"Let's just say these drinks are just what I need."

"That bad, huh?" They traded grins and Hawke took the tankards from the bar top. "Nothing you can't handle after the Deep Roads, I'm sure."

"There's never more than I handle, Corff," Hawke agreed. It worked for him so far, and why would he try humility now? This was his last night as a free man – for the moment – and he intended to wake up hungover from it and uncertain where his trousers were. All he could hope at this point was that Carver would remember they were brothers once he had Garrett in a locked cell in the Circle with restrictions on everything from reading material to bedtime. Or maybe it would be better if he forgot that fact.

Probably better.


	2. First Steps

Hawke walked into the Gallows, looking at it completely differently this time around. Not just because he was hungover either. The statues were always haunting, if he was being honest. But now… He'd been avoiding this all his life and his mother made a lot of sacrifices to keep him and Bethany from ever being in the Circle.

_Good thing it's not forever._

Right, sticking to that. Hawke cleared his throat, rolling his shoulders as he walked up to Cullen. "Hello, handsome," he greeted with less volume and enthusiasm than normal. Maker, this afternoon sun was brutal. Almost made him wish he hadn't slept through morning and his uncle's griping about Andraste-knows-what. "Have I got news for you."

Cullen's sigh had the same restorative effects, however, and Garrett managed a smile despite the headache pounding behind his temples. "Sirrah Hawke, I don't have time right now for—"

"I'm an apostate." He interrupted, his smile turning tired. Hopefully the Circle had light-blocking shades. Couldn't be worse than Gamlen's hovel. "A rogue mage, you know. Or I hope you did. I haven't done a terrific job of hiding it, so—" Hawke held his arms out, nodding to Cullen. "Here I am, turning myself in for the safety of everyone. Well," he corrected himself. "My family first."

Cullen's moment of true, genuine surprise was definitely a plus to this whole plan. "Hawke, if you go through with this," he began, keeping up a decent front. "I _have_ to take you in. It's my duty. You do understand that?"

"Yes, of course, Cullen." Hawke shook his head, wincing at the movement and stopping. Really wished he hadn't done that. "Why do you think I went to you? You're one of the good ones." And he stopped to consider it for a moment, though it was mostly true. "Except that one time you said mages aren't people like you and me. I am still people, aren't I?"

A weighted silence sat between them for a moment, Hawke's least favorite kind. Worse for the fact that Cullen was studying him closely and only Aveline had a gaze more piercing. Cullen reached out to Hawke, waving other Templars over to join him. With any luck, it would be with as much silence as they could manage in those metal suits. "You're still people, Hawke. I respect what you're doing here, for what it's worth."

Hawke stifled a laugh. Oh, if only Cullen knew. Better that he didn't. Amazing how that kept happening and it was only step one of the plan. "Worth plenty, Cullen."

And he followed the group of Templars into the Gallows. He'd have to write Mother straight away once he was inside or even their gates couldn't stop her.


	3. Reunion

The entourage of Templars left them together outside the hallway for Meredith's office, just Cullen and Hawke. "A secret moment alone," Hawke teased to break the silence. "I'm flattered, Cullen."

"Sirrah Hawke," Cullen sighed, running a hand over his neck briefly. "You should know what to expect. First, you'll meet with Knight Commander Meredith. Once she clears you, you'll meet with Orsino. Then Templars take you to the mage barracks." He rested one hand on the edge of his belt, looking Hawke in the eye. "That's everything for today. I'm imploring you, please _behave_. Just for that long."

He didn't wait for an answer, which was lucky for Hawke, who didn't have one that wasn't snarky. Cullen led Hawke down the hall to the Knight Commander. Orsino caught only a glimpse of him before Hawke was out of sight, turning the corner into Meredith's office.

"Knight Commander," Cullen introduced their arrival. "Sirrah Hawke of Hightown is here to turn himself in as an apostate."

Two windows nearly framed her desk, and a few elaborate torches dotted the walls — already lit despite it only being about midday. The walls were the dismal off-white he expected with a spotless Templar shield mounted on the wall behind her desk over two crossed swords. To think there was someone even less subtle than he was.

"Very well," she drawled, not looking up from her desk at first. It gave Hawke a few moments to raise his eyebrows to Cullen in a preemptively sarcastic 'oh boy'. He'd heard about her at great length from many in Kirkwall, and she was living up to all the terrible things he'd heard so far. All with just two words and steady indifference. She finally looked up, actually at Hawke directly. "Sit down."

"No thanks, I prefer—"

She leaned forward, dropping an armored elbow on her desk while loose, light blond curls drifted to the front of her shoulders. Maker, he was spending too much time with Varric to be that poetic. "Sit. Down."

"Yes, Knight Commander," he answered cheekily and grinned as he sat. "It is quite a nice chair. Not as good as home, but—"

"You are here because you're an apostate, and I am here to determine how much of a threat you are to the people of Kirkwall. Your comfort is beside the point," she accurately insisted.

"Rght to the point, I like that," Hawke observed. "Determine away."

"Not only now, but throughout your stay in the Circle." She rested the other hand on the sturdy desk, pushing herself to loom above him. "Despite your standing in Hightown, you will be treated like any other mage under our watch."

"What an honor." Hawke deadpanned, a grin at the ready, and he rested back in the chair. An added bonus to getting Merrill to safety was the ability to sass and generally irritate as many Templars as possible. Embarrassing Carver too, if he could. Practically his job as an older brother.

"You will undergo the Harrowing," she continued, letting out a heavy breath. Being Knight Commander and a reputed bitch had to be tiring. "And Cullen will stand guard to prevent the outcry mages and nobles so adore."

"I do love a good Harrowing." Anders told him all about the Harrowing when they planned this scheme up. For Hawke, it was nothing to be worried about. "I meant outcry," he corrected mockingly with a dismissive shrug.

"And should you pass, you'll be under a probationary period supervised by a rotating guard," she ignored him and nodded to Cullen, no doubt some sort of hint to make note of that for later. "I've heard of your charisma and your 'good deeds', and I won't give you the chance to gather favors as leverage."

Hawke had mastered a steady expression through game after game of Wicked Grace, though he often managed to lose to Varric or Isabela anyway. So he immediately recognized this sinking feeling of knowing he was about to botch this round. A rotating guard wasn't part of the plan and it complicated that plan rather a lot.

_Andraste's ass, this didn't go right._

"And here I heard the Circle was a dismal, isolated place. Sounds like I'll always have—"

"Lastly," she interrupted, "The Templars will issue tests and trials for you as we see fit, with or without notice. The threat of magic is ever present, and—"

"The Maker steels your heart against temptation, and He shall judge their lies, yes, yes, I know," Hawke said with a casual wave of his hand. If he didn't antagonize her at all, it would make Cullen back there suspicious, so Hawke would just chalk this attitude up to strategy. Definitely not because it was funny. "I have every faith you'll do whatever you want. For the people, of course."

The Knight Commander narrowed her gaze at him, eyes sharper than her Templar tiara. "Sirrah Hawke. I will remind you only once that your status in Hightown will not protect you here. I suggest you keep in that mind."

She took her seat again, a silent dismissal as she returned to the paperwork on her desk. Cullen responded immediately, saluting as Templars do, and gesturing for Hawke to come along with him. And so off they went, this time to Orsino's office. The First Enchanter was respected by many, the unspoken requirement for being a First Enchanter at all. Mostly, Hawke knew of him as a frustrated man trying his best, which made sense once you realized he had even less say than a regular First Enchanter was provided.

His office was dark in a comforting, library-esque sort of way. Books sat stacked on most of the flat surfaces and Orsino was waiting for them when they came in. "Knight Captain," he greeted Cullen with a civil nod, standing. "And you must be Garrett Hawke. Tales of your expedition have reached even here. Though I'm sorry you can no longer reside in your estate, I hope you find comfort among your fellow mages."

A soft chuckle came instinctively, and Hawke smiled. "No need to be so formal, Orsino. Rest assured, I've fallen asleep in worse places among more dangerous crowds than this." The looks he got from Cullen and Orsino alike were at once curious for details and praying to the Maker he wouldn't go into it. And for now, he'd spare them the story. _Stories_, if he were to be honest. "The Circle is plenty fine for me."

"Well, I am glad to hear it," Orsino tried to move from the subject for the sake of everyone present, only slightly awkward about it. "You've spent most of your life outside of the Circle and practicing magic out there is an entirely different creature than practicing it here. I'll represent all Circle mages to the Templars and if you have any questions those in Circle can't answer, that's precisely what I'm here for."

In a split second, the energy between Cullen and Orsino became charged and Hawke pretended not to notice. He would definitely win the bet with himself as to what it was about, though.

"And if you see or experience anything untoward, come to me immediately. We're mages, not prisoners or slaves, and—"

"First Enchanter," Cullen warned, mostly how one might try to stop a sibling before they pissed off their parent too much. "We've discussed this at great length. Any true infractions by the Templars against mages will be dealt with swiftly and seriously. We are here to protect you."

"Yes, of course." Orsino steepled his hands on his desk, lowering himself to sit. The venom in his voice could have killed a lesser man, but Cullen gracefully appeared not to notice. With the word "true" in front of "infractions", Hawke could guess that his momentary blindness to that instigation was one of few mercies Orsino and the other Circle mages got.

_The sooner Merrill is out, the better._

Fortunately, the rest of the trip was bland and went by in a blink. Cullen passed him off to other Templars, and he was escorted to his room (a cell that made Gamlen's hovel look like a dream, so he wouldn't be writing home about that). The Templars explained that he was to change into the rather disappointing Circle robe left on his cot while they waited outside to collect his clothing from home.

Hawke avoided robes all his life for two reasons: they looked like a grandmother's nightgown and it screamed 'I'm a mage, arrest me'. Now he learned a third reason, which was that they looked absolutely ridiculous on him especially. Rather freeing in the nether regions, at least. When they had his nicer clothes from the estate to send home to Mother, the Templars left him be. Probably to pawn his clothes.

And just as he expected, he found Merrill squirreled away in a pile of books in the library. He was several feet away and hadn't said a word when she popped her head up, eyes delighted but her expression fraught with worry. She leaped up and tossed her arms around his neck.

"Oh, Hawke!" He hugged her back, relief washing over him. As a blood mage, she was in even more danger here than any other mage within the Circle. Hawke would be lying (to himself for a change) if he said he hadn't feared the worst. "Thank you for coming. I'm so sorry to get you mixed up in all this, I... I've made a mess of things, haven't I?" She took a moment to step back, wringing her hands for a glimmer of a second before answering herself for him. "I have."

"Lucky for you, I'm here to make an even bigger mess," he joked and she breathed a laugh, tucking her hair absently behind her ear. Good to know he could get her to laugh, however half-hearted. Hawke took a seat on the bench near the windowsill she'd been sitting on before, which she returned to now. They had to look boring to keep talking about matters like this, and they both knew it.

He grabbed the nearest book, something about protective spells, and opened to a random page to point out some line about spell radius. All part of the rouse, but it helped to know what he was looking at if someone did come along to question them. "There's a small wrinkle in that plan, but it won't change a thing for you. It's just like it said in the letter."

"Clever code, by the way," she chimed, trying her hand at changing the subject to distract herself. It wasn't working. "It wasn't yours, was it? Didn't seem like you, so—" She forced out a sharp sigh, snatching up a book of her own to keep up appearances. "What did you mean, for me?"

"Dear old Meredith is keeping an extra close eye on me," he explained and did his best not to notice the almost pained look she gave him. "Can't be worse than darkspawn. The point is, you'll be safe and I'll be right behind you. Metaphorically."

"Thank you, Hawke," she replied, tilting her head down to the open book on enchanted items but peering up at him with bright, mournful eyes. "I know you will."


	4. Secret Ritual

Hawke woke to incessant knocking with far too brief bouts of quiet between. He rolled in his bed, pulling sheets with him. "You're just drunk, Sergius. Again," he muttered, shooing away one of the neighbors packed in around Gamlen's ramshackle home.

"Good morning to you too," Carver grumbled.

Ah, it was coming back now. Hawke sat up, stretching to loosen the tension in his shoulders, but there just wasn't any getting rid of it. Andraste's ass, this bed was a curse worse than any magic. A bit of morning light filtered down to Hawke, but hardly enough to wake him up. It was no Hightown, that much was obvious. Still— better than the Deep Roads.

"My own brother, here to fetch me?" Hawke teased, swinging his legs out of bed and approaching Carver at the door. Rather, through the slotted window in the door. "I'd been promised a rotating guard. And here I was, worried I'd start to miss you. Barely got a wink."

"Don't joke, brother," Carver scolded, unlocking the door. "They don't call it the Harrowing because it's easy." He stepped back with a scowl set on his face that really was going to turn him into Gamlen if he kept it up. And Hawke knew what that meant. He'd sooner die than admit it, but Carver was worried, and so the joking had to stop. …Alright, he'd just slow it down a little.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll be alright. Lead the way, Ser Carver," he teased with a smirk. It wasn't a spritely dance to lift his spirits, but that was more of a Carver trick anyway. Didn't have much of an effect regardless as his little brother turned without a word and they rounded a corner into another indistinguishable hallway of the Gallows.

Identical wall torches were all placed the same distance apart and slivers in the walls that were supposedly windows gave no hint as to where they were in relation to the outside. Dark doorways broke up the monotony of the stone halls, but even those doorframes matched each other perfectly.

The Harrowing would be easy for Hawke, no matter what Carver fussed over. What weighed on him now was the idea of Merrill travelling these halls alone at night in a couple weeks without getting lost. There would be no ball of yarn this time, not like in the alienage, and she couldn't risk being late.

_One step at a time. First, the Harrowing._

"They're testing me, you know. That's why they sent me for this." Carver wouldn't actually look at Hawke while he talked this over. Strangely, no one else was around, but at least it afforded them this moment for Carver to get this weight off his chest and onto his brother's shoulders. After all, what were big brothers for? "I'll be watching your Harrowing with Cullen. It has to be perfect."

"It's hardly my first visit to the Fade, you know that. Trust me! This won't be much of a test for either of us," he encouraged Carver. "I'll be back before you can miss me."

Carver scoffed, finally granting Hawke a glance. Barely. Walking up a set of stairs leading to another level in the Gallows, Hawke wasn't sure which, Carver continued. "You're not taking this seriously. If you get possessed, I'll have to—" He cut himself off with a grumble and stopped suddenly on the landing.

Carver had an explanation ready before Hawke could even start to ask what this hesitation was about. "Right, before we get too far… After the Harrowing, watch out for Ser Alrik or anyone who looks like they don't want to run screaming from him. He's a nasty one, probably the worst Templar here."

"Take the Harrowing seriously and avoid Alrik. I think I can do that," Hawke answered brightly, flashing a smile to counter Carver's scowl.

"Maker's breath, just follow me."

* * *

At the Harrowing chamber, which may or may not be what it was actually called, few Templars in full armor waited with Cullen and Orsino. Hawke had a tendency to turn heads when he entered a place, but nothing like this. Andraste's ass, it was like being at his own funeral.

"Hawke," Orsino acknowledged him, sounding somewhere between exhausted and irritated as he usually did. At least he was consistent. Carver went to join Cullen while Orsino came over to Hawke, his back to the Templars almost as if they were scheming. "I'm not certain what you've heard about the Harrowing, but it's nothing like a normal visit to the Fade."

"Of course not," Hawke joked, smirking and already prepared for the worst. It's not as though he lied to Carver before; he truly was confident that he could handle whatever came his way. It'd worked so far, why question it?

"This ritual sends you to the realm of dreams to contend with a demon with only your willpower to guide you." Orsino, as somber as ever, looked up at Hawke with an intense, prying gaze. "Do you understand—"

"First Enchanter," Cullen interrupted. "Each mage has to go through their Harrowing without prior instruction to prove they can shield themselves from the threat of demons."

Orsino had instructions of a sort for Cullen, Hawke could tell that much even as the elven mage stepped back to stand a good distance away from everyone present. The stoup of lyrium in the center of the room couldn't be more obviously for the ritual, so Hawke approached it with everyone's stares boring into his back.

"Sirrah Hawke," Cullen continued, his voice level with years of practice beginning this speech. Watching the lyrium swirl and glow, as if it were alive, Hawke kept his back to them all and listened. "Place your hand in the lyrium to enter the Fade and begin the Harrowing. If you fail, we Templars will uphold our duty." The gravity of the pause told Hawke he wasn't done and that he had nothing nice to say. What a shame. "You will die."

_So that's what had Carver so worked up._

"Well, no one wants that." Alright, a few people did. Hawke slipped his hand into the lyrium and felt the cold, lightning rush of the Fade overtake him.


	5. Harrowing

The Fade was no different than usual despite his change in entry, so to speak. Instead of it gradually rising from a dream, it rushed to meet Hawke. He could almost sense its alert to his arrival in the odd air of the Fade. The warped cobbled roads sort of resembled Kirkwall's city streets, but… Not quite. The Fade reflected your expectations back at you the best it could, but it never could quite manage to make it perfect. Lucky for the skilled mages of the world who wanted to avoid possession and becoming an abomination. That would really ruin his day for certain. And think of poor Carver!

"Well," Garrett said to himself, never one to keep quiet. "Only way out is forward."

He walked alone for quite a ways, picking off a wraith here or there, and almost found himself wondering when the Harrowing was going to start. Sure, he was no noble of Hightown here and he had no schedule to keep, but surely his time was worth more than a prank trip to the Fade.

"Although," Garrett trailed off, stopping at the top of a hill overlooking the almost-but-not-quite realm of the Fade. Chairs jutted out from walls and ceilings, spires stood at a slant along walkways leading to nothing. All typical, and yet—he could tell this was just a corner of the Fade. Hawke was contained in here, just a margin of the Fade, and so was something else. He couldn't help but laugh. "That's your big test? One demon?"

Maker, was he glad they didn't ask him about the things he'd faced before. They might not've gone so easy on him if they'd known. With Meredith at the helm, it was almost a guarantee they wouldn't have. Busy thinking on that, Garrett almost didn't spot the glowing figure on a dock down the hill from where he stood. Nearly blended right into the sky behind it, but the figure was the first sign of anything in this trial he'd seen so far.

Naturally, Garrett approached it. Best get this over with before Carver stressed himself to early grey hairs.

"Hawke," called a familiar voice with a faint echo as he came over. This area was different from where he first came into the Fade. Up close, it looked more like the docks of Kirkwall where he first landed with Mother, Carver, and Aveline. Made sense, since he was looking at Aveline for the moment.

"Bit of a cowardly trial, even for mages. Facing a demon unarmed," she said, crossing her arms and setting her expression into a thoughtful frown he recognized all too well. This wasn't the first Spirit of Valor he'd ever met, but normally, it was a faceless guard or a soldier. Aveline, though? She should be flattered if he ever told her. Which he wouldn't, of course. He'd play along with this part, dangerous as that was. He understood the difference between a spirit and a demon better than a sheltered Circle mage. Hawke could play with this fire just fine.

"Worried about me?" He teased her and the spirit even came close to the same 'cut it out' stare Aveline was so good at.

"Not every mage is you, Hawke. But," she sighed, shaking her head and resting a hand against her temple. "That you're here means you haven't faced the demon hunting you." She walked past him to the edge of the path, pointing out at a half-circle of flames he passed earlier. In all honesty, he realized now that he should've figured that place was important. "This is where the creature will fight you. Be careful, Hawke."

"Always," he lied. The spirit, showing only the person he most expected in Valor and not being Aveline herself, just nodded in reply. Reminding himself that anyone he saw in a dream was nothing more than a familiar face was a big of part of travelling in the Fade. Losing sight of reality and your preconceptions was the biggest danger here, after all. Garrett went back down the path he came from without another word.

…only to find the place had changed entirely. The ruined stone towers and barren earth scrubbed lifeless by harsh winds and recent Darkspawn attacks, a place he couldn't forget if he tried. And did he ever try. He glanced at the boulder where Bethany died and his mother held him to blame, a guarded smile already on his face. This demon played dirty, then? Well, it wasn't the only one.

"Look familiar?" A gravelly voice, if you could call it that, ripped across the clearing to Hawke.

"Oh, so you talk? Pride demons are always jumping right to crushing," he taunted the horned, towering beast. Each footstep rumbled through the ground as it marched over, perhaps involuntarily flexing its massive spiked arms.

"There it is again." It barked a laugh, throwing its head back. "Your pride. Your _arrogance_." The demon slammed its fists into the dead earth, nothing but a display, and Garrett didn't flinch. "You kept telling yourself you could handle it when you fled from Lothering. You even told yourself that coming here."

Garrett called forward the staff, appearing just as it was across the Veil because he willed it to. The Fade did have its perks. He faced it and squared off, staring it down. Or up. Difficult to say, now that he thought about it.

"And just like before, your pride will be your ruin. And I will run free in until your body decays!" Light consumed its body as it morphed to take the form of the ogre that ended Bethany's life. A trick to get him to lean on that 'arrogance', or so it claimed. Well, what a blunder that was.

* * *

Then the real world came back into focus, the charged atmosphere of the Fade giving way to regular Kirkwall air that stank of life, seawater, and now musty books too.

"That wasn't so bad," Garrett said, slightly winded but managing a debonair smile. "Once you get past the demon, it's… nothing." He staggered forward, catching himself on the stoup. Orsino marched over to offer a free arm, whatever good that might do to a man twice his size, and Carver just scoffed. He heard it often enough to know it was him and not some nameless judgmental Templar off to the side.

"Right, so… when you said willpower," Hawke implied the rest of the sentence, gesturing to himself. Once the mage was in the pocket of the Fade, they were removed from the supply of lyrium, drawing on their own resolve instead… Leaving them an easy kill if a demon did get into their body.

Besides, why waste the Circle resources on one who might end up dead anyway? Times like this, he understood Anders' indignance more than he wanted to admit. His vision swam and he pushed himself up using the stoup instead of his offered arm. "Thank you," he breathed to Orsino, the exhaustion hitting him hard. "Just need a minute."

"To your credit," Cullen entered into the conversation, glancing to Orsino to gauge the elven man's irritability with the practiced eye of guard. "Most mages pass out during the Harrowing."

"Can't imagine why." Garrett almost laughed, but it came out more like breathing wrong. He hadn't pushed his magical limits like this since he was a child training under his father. Garrett did not miss this feeling. He reached for his staff to use as a walking stick, mainly to spare Orsino the uncomfortable task of leading him anywhere.

"I can't let you do that," Cullen explained, the soldiers behind him reaching for their weapons. All of the Templars, even Carver. Maybe especially from that scowl on his face. How much of it was acting, Hawke wondered sometimes.

"Makes perfect sense," Hawke quipped and lowered his hand. He was too tired to argue and if he had to, he'd drag himself to his room. Quarters. Cell.

"Ser Carver," Cullen said, turning only barely over his shoulder. "Return this mage to his chambers."

"Yes, Knight-Captain," Carver answered and marched forward to collect his brother from the stoup. "Come on." If his goal was to sound as indifferent as possible while maintaining the barest level of civility, he was doing just perfect.

They walked the hallways in silence aside from Garrett's occasional uncomfortable sighs. Carver took a careful pace once they were out of view and could've been careful not to mention it. But social skill wasn't his specialty, was it? "Maker, you're heavy."

"Don't they train you Templars?" Garrett could manage a proper laugh again, at least, though only one. Maybe one and a half. "The Order is so dangerous; this is the least of your worries."

"And now you sound like mother," he muttered. Not a wise plan to bring back the memory of Carver's declaration to be a Templar so soon after the pride demon took a dig at Hawke.

_See, Mother? I told you he'd only think of himself._

"Better than Gamlen." Garrett didn't miss a beat, always ready for a battle of wits. Not much else to do in their home in Lothering or back in Gamlen's hut. "Just don't miss out on your big chance to be someone."

Carver scoffed again, this one sharper than the last. So now it was hitting home—and instead of stirring him to fight Carver like he was so close to wanting to, Hawke felt guilty for even saying it. "I'm not serious, Carver."

"When are you ever," he drawled back, taking him cautiously down the stairs back to his floor. "I told you not to joke about the Harrowing, and now I'm practically dragging you back."

"The noble work of a Templar," Garrett mockingly praised, the rest of a biting remark dying before he said it out loud. Thank the Maker. "I did promise I'd be back before you missed me. One of two isn't bad, Carver."

"I see you're feeling better." They were back at his cell and to think that this morning, he couldn't wait to leave the place. Now he was sure he'd sleep for 12 hours on the fabric-encased rock slab they called bedding and be happy for it. "Just in time for your meeting with Meredith and Cullen in the morning."

"Afternoon?" He hopefully corrected, leaning against the wall in what might have passed as nonchalance while Carver opened the cell door.

"Morning," Carver insisted, gesturing into the cell. "Just keep your head down and follow the rules for once, brother."

"I'll be a model mage." He could just envision the look his brother gave him even as he passed him into the chambers. Made it all worth it. Hawke sat on the bed, staring out into the hall at Carver cast in shadow. "You can count on it."

"Not just me." He couldn't mention Merrill directly anywhere in this building, but that was all Hawke needed to know what his little brother was thinking of. Rather, who. Then he disappeared from view, the clanking of his armor fading into an echo. Finally, Hawke let out an exhausted groan, laying down and practically falling asleep before his head even hit the bed.


	6. A Kept Mage

A dull ache nestled behind Hawke's eyes, the penalty of draining himself of magic and denying himself excessive rest before being up and about again. Bloody Templars, dragging him out of bed almost literally first thing in the morning… And yet he was there with Cullen waiting for Meredith. Hawke sat himself in her office, picking at a boot idly to pass the time. There was absolutely no chance that obsessive woman slept in, so he had no doubt this was an intentional delay. Most likely spent scolding Orsino for breathing too magically.

"Knight-Commander," Cullen greeted her with a small bow as she strode past him to posture behind her desk. She nodded in return before focusing her attention on Hawke.

"Circle mages are expected to undertake tasks at the will of the Chantry and the Templars," she prefaced, explaining as if he was a particularly idiotic student. "To show you what this entails, you've been tasked with helping an herbalist here in Kirkwall collect resources in exchange for supplies for the Circle."

A thousand witty remarks came to mind, but he didn't have the energy to spare for her. He settled on the easiest one with a sardonic smile. "What an honor."

"You will do well to watch your tone," Meredith warned, sharpening her glare to a point that might actually pierce his skull if she tried hard enough.

Hawke held his hands up in a nonchalant shrug but kept quiet this time. That was just enough stirring of the pot to keep her attention on him but not earn her suspicion.

"Cullen will be your escort to the Wounded Coast to harvest the Harlot's Blush flower, and the Guard Captain will accompany you to the Dalish camp for their distinct tattoo ink," she outlined, taking a seat and looking less than pleased about it. And he thought he was restless trapped in Gamlen's hovel. Imagine being unable to relax enough to sit down? Must be the stick up her butt. "You will adhere to their every command and return to the Circle without a fight. Am I clear?"

"Perfectly," Hawke dismissed, giving her the same treatment she offered him. Apparently deciding he wasn't worth her time either, Meredith glossed over his indifference. Fine enough by him—he had enough to think about with the realization that he truly did never tell Aveline about this plan and by Andraste's dirty socks, she'd probably give him a good scolding.

"Knight-Captain," she implied the order and Cullen acted.

"On your feet, Sirrah Hawke." Cullen, of course, could order Hawke around anytime he wanted and Garrett stood to follow him out to the Gallows entrance. He waited long enough to make the dirty joke he thought of the moment he got this task, and Hawke grinned now that he could finally share it with Cullen.

"Ever harvested a Harlot's Blush before, Knight-Captain?"

Cullen's heavy sigh to cover up his Templar-grade fluster never got old. "I suppose I should be grateful you didn't say that in front of the Knight-Commander," he evaded the answer and Hawke let it be. What's the fun in teasing him only once? He'd need to savor the material he had.

"There, now that's the spirit! Let's make the Circle proud, or something," he tacked on with a chuckle.

But most of their trip across the Wounded Coast passed in silence, trekking down worn, pitted roads with mysterious skeletons dotting the landscape. Why the coast was titled wounded instead of "riddled with the dead" was anyone's guess. Bandits foolish enough to take them on fell quickly and just outside a cave waited the coveted flower. With another few playful jabs from Hawke, they tidied up that business and Cullen passed Garrett off to Aveline at a good midway point between the Coast and the Dalish settlement.

Of course, she was pretending not to know him well either. The grapevine could tell the Templars that these two arrived in Kirkwall together, but his occasional help with her work would be nothing more than mercenary work between two Fereldans if it was spun right.

And in just a few minutes after Cullen was gone, Aveline delivered her wrath. "Maker damn you for a fool, Hawke, what are you doing?"

"Fetching tattoo ink for the Circle," he purposefully didn't answer her question, getting an irritated groan back.

"Whatever you've got planned," she started irritably, softening as she put her hand on his shoulder and stopped them both in their tracks. "I would think you'd know by now that you can come to me."

Ah, there it was. Guilt would find him even in his Circle life, the one comfort of home he couldn't escape. "Aveline," he started, already hearing the defense in his own voice. "You're the Guard Captain."

"But also your friend," she emphasized, soft compassion in her eyes. Maker, she was like family to him and like his family, she knew exactly what to do to get past his guard (or under his skin in Carver's case).

"Andraste's ass, that's why I didn't want you mixed up in this," he laughed, shaking his head. "And that's not going to change, so you'll just have to settle on this little visit to the Dalish."

"So stubborn," she teased, obviously not happy with this answer, but… Well, at least she let it go. For now. Garrett knew better than to think she actually gave up. Varric would get an earful next, more likely. "We're not done here, Hawke," she warned him like she was reading his mind. "But let's take care of your errand for Meredith before she gets cross."

"Speaking of her, how did you convince her to send you here instead of Cullen?" They started off to the camp again, passing the winding roads of Sundermount that were still more pleasant than the Wounded Coast. Not that he had much of a choice either way.

"Because I've been here before, they're more comfortable with me than a Templar," she explained as if it was obvious. "People in charge like results, Hawke. They won't argue with them." Her knowing tone suggested he was supposed to learn a lesson from that, and maybe he would. …Probably not, but there was a sliver of a chance.

Just as Aveline predicted, the Dalish received them with a watchful calm that was much better than the barely contained hostility he'd be faced with if Cullen brought him. Best case scenario, they'd hate just Cullen, but worst case was they'd think he was ratting them out to the Templars and they'd have to move ahead of schedule. Not a pretty picture however he looked at it. Aveline saved him yet again.

Master Ilen wasn't feeling so favorable to Hawke, though. What a man refuses to sell can still be taken, so… Better than going back empty-handed, he picked up the Dalish tattoo ink from a nearby chest without a fuss. They left the Dalish camp and turned back to Kirkwall before Aveline broke the silence.

"So," she awkwardly began, glancing to him. "How is it? In the Circle—is it as bad as Anders says?"

Of all the blasted things she could ask about… Hawke knew Aveline had her reservations about mages not being in the Circle, but he wasn't going to hide the truth of it from her if she asked him.

"Absolutely. Doubt I'll see the worst of it since I'm a noble from Hightown. Despite what Meredith says, that does make a difference inside the Circle. Not enough of one, but…" He wasn't the one to worry about anyway. His smirk fell at the memory of Merrill sitting with him in the Circle library. "But Merrill? She's hanging in there; you know how she is. But that can't last forever. Meredith's got a real case of the crazies, and she doesn't know when to quit."

"Neither do you," Aveline joked, trying to lift his spirits but introducing a dangerous thought when she did it. Well, so long as he avoided being blighted crazy, Hawke would only be halfway to Meredith. Not too shabby. "I'm sure whatever half-baked plan you've got, you'll set this right."

Turning in the flower and ink to Cullen and living through another lecture about minding his manners in the Circle, Hawke was finally returned to his cell. Based on the messy sheets and skewed bedding, someone had done a search while he was out. Already trying to catch him red-handed, eh? Hawke chuckled and sat down on the corner of the bed without fixing it up. Searching aside, they did let him have a quill, parchment, and ink to finally write a letter back home on the wall-mounted "desk" in his cell—the only outgoing letter he was allowed this month. They're Templars, not mailmen, that was the argument. But they had time to dig through an empty cell, of course.

_Hello, dear mother,_

What to even write now? She had to be worried sick. Her youngest son, a Templar, and her oldest son, a prisoner. She only had Gamlen around now and that had to be miserable. The quill waited above the page as Hawke thought it over.

_I'm alright. I even have my own room and steady work! I think they're impressed with me, Mother. Be strong and brave, and I'll feel better._

'I'm sorry I can't be there.' He sealed the letter with that unwritten and stick it out a hole in the door for the Templar guards to take. And throw away or burn for all he knew, but hey, Garrett tried. That wouldn't be enough to save any of them if Leandra Hawke didn't get her letter, though.


	7. Good Graces

The next week in the Circle was uneventful. Truly, it had to be. Merrill's escape was in a few weeks and Hawke needed to keep just enough attention on him to have it off her—same as since he walked into the Gallows, but it was hard work to _not _draw attention when he was… himself.

Mother wrote him about the stress of running the estate and how she couldn't trust Gamlen to help considering how poorly he'd managed last time. Of course, she was worried about how this affecting Carver and his relationship to Garrett too. And naturally, she chastised him for his recklessness and wasting the effort they put into protecting him all those years. The most surprising thing about the letter was that it reached him at all. Really, that was just more proof for Hawke that being from Hightown did give him the advantage even inside the Circle.

As long as that kept up after his good friend mysteriously vanished from the Circle before she was discovered as a blood mage, Hawke would be very grateful for his rare good luck.

"Hawke," Merrill's chipper tone drew his attention from the book in front of him. He got more reading done locked away than he ever did at home, what were the odds of that? He flashed Merrill a smile, less warmly than he normally would thanks to all the blasted Templars posted in the library, of all places. Not like someone was going to use blood magic to turn a page. "Sorry, I should really keep my distance, but," she trailed off to sit down and opened up a book on Kirkwall's magic history. A bloody mess, that book. "You just look so lonely, is all."

Hawke had gone back to reading, but that earned her a wry smile and raised eyebrows. "Can't see how I'd be lonely with friends assigned to watch over me all night."

She hummed, her distinct accent shining through even without words. And in that second, he hated that she wasn't wrong. Reading together casually like this brought Hawke back to the estate, muttering her name in mock disapproval as he stared at bare footprints on the second floor handrail, getting a note that she'd watered his plants again, and of course reading together in the library with that creepy wall art Fenris resented so much.

But she'd be leaving soon, she had to. And Hawke would get out eventually somehow. Even if he was lonely, and Garrett wasn't thinking he was, what good would that do? He'd be back out in the fresh, free air soon enough one way or another.

"Oh, that's not the same, Hawke," she half-reprimanded and half-teased. "They're not actually your friends… Oh. You knew that. Right." Jokes were always on the difficult side for her, but she did figure that one out without Hawke dropping hints. Isabela would be proud! "Do you think you'll be alright?"

She snuck a peek at him as another couple mages slunk by them for new books, though they were probably old to them. Everything was old to them by the looks of things. Both strangers moved like the air was water and seemed permanently afflicted by a desire to be much, much smaller than they really were. Right, they definitely weren't being beaten by Templars at least once a week. Anders had that part right too, as extreme as he could be: if a mage was being hurt, everyone else turned a blind eye.

"Relax, Merrill," he brushed off her worries with a wave. "You've seen for yourself what I can deal with. If spirits, the Blight, and the undead didn't get me, a few Templars won't stand a chance."

Whatever she was going to say dropped off once the sound of clanking armor got closer. Merrill stared at her book, shoulders tense in defiance more than fear. Come to think of it, Hawke wasn't even sure what Merrill looked like afraid—only cripplingly nervous or guilty. He turned his attention to the Templar, probably because he recognized those footsteps anywhere.

"Carver," he greeted far too fondly, which was really just right. Closing the book, Garrett rested forward on the table with a smirk. "My dear brother! Should I assume that dour look on your face is for me?"

"You've been called by the Knight-Commander," he informed him. "On your feet."

"Anything for you, baby brother." Out of spite, Hawke left the book behind on the table. More likely, Merrill would pick it up to put away before any Templar did, but he could pretend it inconvenienced one of them.

Talking on the way was out of the question now. Templars were out in droves during the day and from how Carver stared straight ahead the entire time, apparently even looking at Garrett was a risk he couldn't take. That's what he was choosing to think, anyway. Carver stopped outside Meredith's door and nodded him in.

"Go on, mage."

"Mage?" He scoffed but went with it and walked into Meredith's office. It was all an act… And a very convincing one. Was it luck that he had bigger issues to think about than the strained relationship with his little brother? "Knight-Commander, what a pleasure."

And for a moment, he thought he caught a smirk from Meredith. A wry one, yes, but still. He had to have imagined it from being overworked and sleep deprived off and on since he landed in his Circle cell.

"Sirrah Hawke. The Knight-Captain tells me you've been doing great work on behalf of the Circle." Ah, so that was her motive. He'd been shown the stick and now it was time for the carrot. Should be an uplifting change of pace, not that it would change much for Hawke. "And his praise is not easily earned."

Maybe there was something weighing on Cullen's conscious from the Circle in Fereldan after all… Or maybe it was guilt from telling Hawke mages weren't people. Whatever he said to Meredith would've decided Hawke's life from then on out. Well, more like his quality of life. Being Tranquil was technically not murder as far as the Chantry or anyone cared, but—there were better thoughts to have. More relevant ones too. Garrett quirked a smile to Meredith too, figuring that one simple gesture like that couldn't hurt his odds in the long run. Every bit of leverage counted towards Merrill's escape just a few weeks out.

"Oh, he's certainly a tough one. I'll have to remember to write him a thank you letter later."

"As a reward for this model behavior," she began and stood, cutting an intimidating figure looming over her staunch desk. "I'll allow you to assist your business partner in the mines."

The mines? It took a moment for Hawke to remember the Hightown market hawkers and the one who talked down about Fereldans. Hubert, if he guessed right. Always something with him, wasn't it? The more pressing observation was that he hadn't taken a seat yet and wasn't being forced into one this time. Could it be that the heartless Knight Commander actually saw worth in a measly mage? Maker's breath, that'd be his finest achievement yet.

"To be clear—" Meredith interrupted, her familiar hard expression returning, "This is only being offered to you as a condition of your cooperation and high standing in Kirkwall."

"Those high society types sure know how to whine, don't they?" Garrett leaned on the back of one of the chairs, pushing his luck to see how far it would go. Whatever this discovery was with Meredith, he'd need it when Meredith was out safe and sound. He flashed her an easy smile, letting his hands hang loosely over the chair. "Tell me, was it the neighbors to the south or the northeast?"

"Both," she answered drily, but with a slight, almost imperceptible bright edge to her voice. And Hawke knew he had to have gone mad by then. Meredith, returning his sarcasm at even a fragment of its strength? Maybe he was too good at getting her guard down; this was uncanny.


	8. Reporting In

Night had already fallen in Kirkwall, but Varric spoke at the same volume as always. He had to if he wanted to be heard over the street brawls and drunken songs that made up the city-state's lullaby. When you couldn't just step out into the streets whenever you wanted, it was strangely uplifting to be out in the city. That crawling sensation settled into your very bones in the Gallows, but you got used to it. As natural as the stars Hawke could make out more clearly than the piss puddles he had to avoid in the roads. The idea of going back to it when he walked between Varric and Aveline? Hawke buried the discomfort behind a smirk, letting his dwarven friend fill the silence.

"This whole fiasco is Kirkwall in a nutshell. Stolen money, Coterie infighting, wrongful accusations, killing someone to prove you didn't kill someone, impulsive business deals," Varric trailed off into a chuckle, gesturing to Hawke and flashing a grin. "All we're missing is a political scandal."

"It's not too late," Hawke taunted back, the banter like a balm. "I'm sure we can come across something disgraceful."

"It could have ended much worse than it did. And those miners will be better off now with the raise Hawke promised." A good deed lifted Aveline's spirits as well as alcohol lifted Hawke's and Varric's. Not that Hawke didn't notice her pace slowing as their path escorting Hawke back to the Circle and Templars reached its end.

So he laughed to keep their minds off that ugly business. "Oh, Hubert was not happy with that."

"Frankly?" Ah, perfect, Aveline's rare playful smile graced her face. "Hubert be damned."

Varric put his hand to his chest in mock surprise, eyes glinting at Hawke mischievously for a second before focusing on Aveline. "Guard Captain Aveline, having fun? You really are magical, Hawke."

"I am the only mage in Thedas that can be in the Circle and run a business." Maker's breath, that was a blunder. The time he lost strip poker to Isabela in the Hanged Man—for the third time—was less embarrassing. He'd be damned if he wouldn't try to salvage it anyway. "What? There something on my face?"

"No, just—" Aveline sighed, marching ahead at a regular pace now. Hawke could sense Varric holding back on saying something like the metallic, weighty feeling that came before rain. "How are you doing at the Gallows?"

"With a name like that, it's about what you'd expect." He couldn't go into it with her or Varric. Meredith kept him busy on errands and somehow, his outside life still managed to worm its way in. Like handling the business with Hubert, actually. Then there was Merrill's escape that Anders coordinated for a few days from now. Yes, Garrett had enough to deal with already. The worried, pitying stares would just have to wait. Maybe they could perfect it in the meantime. Wouldn't that be nice?

"Told you he wouldn't give a straight answer."

"Hawke—" Never missed a hint, that Aveline. It was rare that Varric _and_ Aveline were teaming up against him, though, so maybe Hawke should feel special.

"Yes, mother?"

She leveled her best guard captain stare at him and added a dash of nurturing concern for good measure. Somewhere in a nearby alley, a stranger puked up tonight's drink as their friend slurred through comforting them. "I _know_ you, Hawke. You have to be careful in there in ways you aren't out here. If ever. I'm right to be worried about you."

"And she's not alone." Varric joined in with his own thoughtful stare and Garrett felt guilt like a stone hit the pit of his stomach. He knew he'd figure it out somehow or another, but the idea behind that was to get Merrill out and… Alright, there was no real plan for the part that saved his skin.

"Oh, you guys are so thoughtful! I'll put in a good word for you in my letter to Mother tonight."

Aveline sighed more heavily than all that armor she lugged around, shaking her head at him. In the corner of his eyes, he saw Varric's trademark 'you're really in it now' smile. "Can't you take this seriously? Your life could be in danger. Again."

"I couldn't be safer, Aveline." More accurately, he was unsafe as ever but in a different way, so at least Hawke could handle whatever came. Probably. "I'm useful to the Circle, so Meredith isn't any more suspicious of me than she already was."

Right now, that was a win and good enough for Hawke. He led the way toward the Gallows to keep his friends moving and maybe spare himself a lengthy discussion about exactly what kind of idea this was. Not when it was too late to change course anyway. And it was a long ways better than outrunning darkspawn.

"Cullen's backed me up as a good little mage and everything. I'm ready for the big event so I can keep suspicion off me—see? There's a plan in all this."

"That's a pretty generous use of the word 'plan'." Varric kept his smirk up, but it was only partially a joke. At least he wasn't trying to drag the walk on for more time to lecture him. Aveline.

"_Writers_."

"Just—" Aveline resigned herself with a sigh, catching up to their pace in a few strides. "Be careful, Hawke. I mean it."

"Don't do anything you wouldn't invite us to," Varric agreed, chuckling.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Another successful report." Meredith set aside the physical report, or he assumed it was, and looked at him with an appraising smile over gauntleted hands. "Nicely done, Hawke."

Andraste's holy knickers, was that genuine praise from Knight Commander Meredith? He couldn't decide what was more discomforting—that she could even mean it or that he was being given a once-over like a fine magical artifact worth purchasing. Or was it that he'd started to think of their one-on-one meetings like any other day instead of risky?

"But when I tell you that armor is flattering, it's too much?" Hawke smirked, settling down into his usual chair. "Please, you'll make me blush."

"I've only just begun." Wait. Garrett was still catching up to the first comment and—was that a threat? Or what, a promise for more flattery? Bad news no matter how he looked at it. Once Merrill was out, he doubted those warm, fuzzy feelings would last. "You are an example to other Circle mages, Hawke—and not in the way I first imagined."

Wasn't that barely audible laugh of hers as she stood and circled her desk just ominous. Templars going through his room almost daily while he wasn't there, that rotating guard as promised, and the feeling of eyes always on him wherever he went… And there was more she'd imagined but not acted on. Maker's breath. Meredith walked past him without a glance, and he heard the door to the office shut.

"If only they understood as well as you do how vital our work is here."

Garrett knew very well what being backed into a corner looked like. The narrow escape from Lothering. Scraping together a plan to leave Ferelden. Persuading Mother to leave Bethany behind. Selling himself into servitude to buy his way into Kirkwall. Selling himself again to get into the Deep Roads, of all places. He thanked his luck for getting out every time, but somehow, Hawke just kept finding himself in corners of all shapes and sizes. This one just happened to be a worn armchair in the Templar Knight Commander's office. And he did the same thing he did every time: put on a good show of having it all under control. The rest usually followed. Usually.

"That's me. Templar sympathizer and model mage."

"There is a great deal of work that must be done for the Circle and society at large that Templars themselves cannot do." She found her way back to her desk without anything else weird happening, coming back into view on his right and taking a seat with that same steady expression. Hawke could feel the closed door behind him like it was charged with magic. He knew it wasn't, but that didn't change a damn thing. "With such a record for success and promising behavior, I would be negligent not to entrust more responsibilities to you."

This had to be a test of some kind. A trick to burn him out and get him to rat out Merrill by mistake. Andraste's ass, why was it always Hawke? Was it something he said or did? Perhaps that pumpkin he stole once from a farmer in Lothering. Or was it because he told that Chantry sister who spat at Bethany as a child that she had the face of a toad and a heart full of warts? Maybe the Maker just hated him that much? Blast it all, he really should've gone to the Chantry more.

"Oh, I don't know about that." He shrugged it off, propping one leg up on his knee like this was his den back at home. Just getting ready for a round of cards with Varric so he could part with coin on his terms. "I am still a mage. How much responsibility can I possibly handle?"

"Don't play the fool." That was an order if he'd ever heard one. She set one fist on the table, that smile dropping to her usual stern stonewall look. Somehow, that didn't get rid of the tension. "I know you've seen the atrocities in the dark underbelly of the world that so many others shut out."

That sentence alone was like a bucket of cold water, or—no, like a sheet of snow dropping on him unceremoniously from the trees of Ferelden. Even Carver laughed with Bethany at the yelp Garrett made, rushing to get his coat off as if that would make any difference then. They were just kids; he was barely in his teenage years. Father had died only a few years back, though they felt long and yet—like it had just happened. Their laughter was uncommon to hear those days and Hawke would do anything to make it continue.

But happiness never lasted.

The same feeling hit him when he saw Mother sobbing over Bethany's body, begging her to get up against all reason. Even if her body wasn't completely still and lifeless, she never would have been able to walk in that condition. Or ever again, most likely. Maker, the vacant look on her face still woke Hawke up with a choking gasp some nights.

After a lifetime as the family with no father and passing the silent desperation of other families with mages in them, seeing what they could be brought to when the Templars sometimes came for them… Yes, Hawke knew what life could do to a person. He just had the good sense not to talk about it to someone he had imprisoned and at his will.

Garrett felt the smile falter just a hair and no doubt, Meredith saw it too. The smile didn't reach his eyes anymore, not even if he faked it like he often did. "And what would make you think that? Usually, I hear about my roguish good looks or clever wit."

"It is your resilience in the face of hardship." She sat back, keeping one hand palm down on the desk as if to keep it in place despite her relatively relaxed posture. "My older sister was a mage too. Amelia was gentle, a tender soul, and she was not ready for the rigorous standards that the Circle upholds."

Garrett found his expression softening along with her tone. Whatever her opinion of mages or freedom or common human decency… The Meredith in front of him was a younger sister living with a mage in the family who saw her as sibling she didn't want to lose.

"…You hid her."

Meredith nodded sharply. "Not well. The Templars were called, and when they came, my sister entered a deal with a demon and became an abomination." She said it with a level voice but the tension in the air gave away that this was still raw. And always would be, if Hawke's own losses meant anything. "I watched as she cut my family down and before she was put to rest by the Templars, she had taken 70 other souls with her. I barely escaped with my life."

Of course, Hawke had heard plenty of stories like this. Told tearfully or angrily, over tankards or corpses in rain-battered coastlines, hugging people he'd just met and never see again because it just felt like he had to. Nothing made him ready to hear it from Knight Commander Meredith, who turned a blind eye to the Templars under her that wanted to make mages Tranquil for the smallest suspicion and never let up on Orsino or any Circle mage.

"I can see it in your eyes even now. You understand where no one else does how important it is to protect mages from themselves."

That wasn't what he did. Sending Feynriel to the Dalish was because he needed guidance to understand his abilities. There was a damn good reason he never once considered sending him to the Circle to be shackled like an animal. The half-elf mage didn't have the benefit of noble standing and something of a reputation to protect him. What Hawke wanted to shield him from was ignorant people, not himself. But how could a woman like Meredith understand? She saw the tragedy of magic as a child, and now it was the only thing she could see.

"Not all of them have your resolve, Hawke. Those that don't will inevitably end up hurting others—or worse."

Where was he supposed to begin? Hawke couldn't talk about this, not with her. It didn't matter that she was wrong, and most mages he knew about whose lives ended in tragedy only went that way because they felt trapped. All he could think of right then was how his entire family stayed on the move to keep Bethany and Garrett from being found out and taken away only to have Bethany die unburied. What did her freedom do for her when she died young anyway? Would she have been happier in the Circle, not like tender Amelia Stannard? Or would she have withered in there and met an early death in one of the grim, horrific ways that so many Circle mages did?

Neither side was right or wrong. The Templars shackled the mages and the Chantry collared the Templars. Like everything else Hawke just had to stick his nose in, it was a bloody mess. And he wasn't here about that anyway. This was all for Merrill. Whatever he did to protect her, Hawke could manage.

"It's a harsh truth. Never goes over well at parties."

That seemed to do it for Meredith. Her analytical smile was back, and she leaned towards him over the desk.

"In the coming weeks, your tasks will be to watch over your fellow mages. Report anyone you find suspicious." Oh, was that all? Hawke knew that if he came up empty, she'd start to suspect him. Just peachy. "And if work outside the Gallows needs a covert approach to track down dangerous mages, I will call on you. Be prepared." He endured another assessing look, weighing him for Maker-knew-what. "You are dismissed."

Led by the new watch of Templars to his cell, Garrett stared up at the ceiling that night as his mind whirled to think of answers. _Well, Garrett, you got yourself here._ Merrill would escape in just a couple days now, technically, and he couldn't risk it all now. He could try to covertly talk to Orsino or contact Anders somehow to ask after which mages he should put under Meredith's scrutiny, but… Well, shit. Now what?


End file.
